


Ebb and Flow

by Bookshido



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Demon Deals, Demon Dean Winchester, Depression, F/M, Knight of Hell Dean Winchester, Murder, Self-Sacrifice, Suicide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-03
Updated: 2017-12-03
Packaged: 2019-02-10 01:17:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,745
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12900867
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bookshido/pseuds/Bookshido
Summary: Fifteen years after you last saw him, Dean Winchester walks back into your life. But this isn't the man you could never forget. Something's wrong.





	1. Chapter 1

You cleared away more weeds from the tombstone, finally able to see the dark granite stone that marked this woman’s resting place. Dead at twenty-nine in 1983.

You paused with your work to read the words etched below the stone.

“‘Mary Winchester. Precious wife, mother of two,’” you murmured, tracing each letter with your pointer finger as you read it.

You stood, glad to have finished the last tombstone on your shift. You’d always made Mary your last grave to clean and you always gave her the most detail and care.

It was a testament to her sons.

* * *

 

_ Fifteen years ago… _

_ January 14th, 2000 _

_ 8:17 PM _

“So, how can I help you?” you asked the next customer, not even looking up as you finished counting the change in the register.

“Uh, just one straight cup of the blackest coffee you’ve got,” a fairly deep male voice said, finally making you look up. 

If you hadn’t been on your shift, your jaw would've dropped out of your mouth and onto the cafe’s floor. 

He was about your age, only maybe nineteen, but he looked like he’d walked straight out of a movie. With dark blonde hair and bright green eyes that seemed all too focused on counting out the exact change needed to pay for a cup of coffee, the boy, well, man, didn’t notice your stare until he had exactly $1.45 in various loose change.

“Uh, is everything okay?” he asked, making eye contact with you and seeming genuinely concerned.

“Oh, uh, yeah,” you managed to stammer out, holding out your hand for him to drop the change into. 

He did so quickly, waiting ever so patiently for you to finish counting out each of the dimes and nickels and put them in the cash register (You’d be lying if you said that you totally hadn’t been being slow just to keep him there longer). 

“Busy this time of night?” he asked curiously, looking around the empty diner. 

“Eh,” you shrugged, grabbing a clean mug off the rack to make his coffee in. “It ebbs and flows.”

You looked back at him curiously, wondering why he would want to know that.

“So, uh, Y/N,” he said, changing his gaze to read your name off your name tag as you passed. “Know any good places to get some dinner around here?”

“Yeah, a few,” you said, bustling around from station to station as you made his coffee. 

“Would you be interested in showing me a few of these places?” he asked when you came back, a wide grin on his face. 

“Maybe after my shift is done in…” you said, spinning to see the clock. “Five minutes.”

“I’ll be waiting,” he promised, smiling at you and taking a sip of the coffee. 

* * *

Dinner flew by in a flash. You talked about everything and nothing at the same time; his brother, his father, your dreams, your family. It felt like you had known each other for years.

You found out his name was Dean Winchester, that he was nineteen and too much of a gentleman to let you pay for dinner despite him obviously needing the money. 

You finally told him about how you couldn’t wait to leave Lawrence, not missing the look of longing on his face as you described the oppressive small town feeling. You just couldn’t shake the awkward feeling of his longing, trying to sneak mentions of it into the conversation. 

You eventually wormed the story out of him; he and his family had had to leave because of an accident that killed his mother. They’d been on the road since, never staying in one spot for more than a month or two. He’d had what you’d always wanted; constant adventure, while you’d had what he’d only known for a little while, what it was like to go to the same schools as everyone else in your grade, to know everyone on your block. 

The two of you talked about your dreams, aspirations: you wanted to run a nursery and he wanted to be a rockstar or a mechanic, whichever came first. The little facts just kept coming, but yet there was so much that you two hadn’t revealed to each other yet. So much that you knew that it would only be a matter of time before he left and you would never see him again. 

Before you knew it, you were back in his car, trying to keep your hands off each other as he drove you back to his ‘home’ for the night, a motel on the edge of town. 

He carried you in, protesting your insists that your legs worked fine, and you two tumbled onto the bed, giggling and stripping out of your clothes quickly and awkwardly like nervous children. 

The rest of that night would linger in your mind every single time you tried to find love in another person. It was… stellar, to say the least.

The next morning, you and he didn’t wake until well into the late morning and even then, no alarms or blaring light were the cause of the awakening. 

“Hey, sweetheart,” Dean said when you woke up, grinning. 

“Hey, Dean,” you whispered back, turning over to face him. 

“Look, Y/N,” he began, quieting down when you pressed a finger to his lips. 

“Dean, I knew what I was getting into here,” you told him. “I knew this was going to be a one-night stand as soon as you started talking about your family and the travelling.”

Dean didn’t say anything, but his eyes spoke filibusters. He wanted you to not be saying this, to insist on going with him and his family. 

You broke eye contact, turning back over to face away from Dean. You two just laid close together, enjoying each other’s body heat and trying to get some extra sleep.

“Y/N,” Dean whispered urgently about half an hour later, nudging you with his shoulder.

“What?” you asked, propping yourself up on your elbows and holding the sheets closer to your chest.

“If anything… odd happens to you or in your town,” Dean said seriously, propping himself up on his elbow. “I want you to call this number.”

He handed you a number scrawled on the motel stationary, obviously having been done the night before. 

“‘Sam Winchester’?’ you read aloud, looking at Dean in confusion. “But-”

“That’s my kid brother’s number,” he explained, cutting you off. “If you ever need to get to me, call him. There shouldn’t be any reason that we’d be apart. I’ll be there before the end of the day if you call it.”

“Alright,” you said, smiling and slipping the number into your coat pocket and scootching closer to Dean. “I promise.”

“Good,” he whispered, pulling you closer and kissing you again. 

The tender moment was violently interrupted by the door of the motel room opening with a bang and sending piercing streams of sunlight straight onto you and Dean’s still very much naked bodies. A person’s body was framed in the sunlight, hiding their face in shadow as you tried to blink spots from your eyes. 

“Hey, Dean,” a teen boy’s voice said cheerfully. “I brought us some- WHOA!”

“Sam!” Dean shrieked, his voice going high-pitched as he chucked a pillow at the shadow person. “Get out!”

“I’m going,” Sam yelled back, hurrying for the door and slamming it shut.

Dean hurriedly climbed off the bed, gathering up his clothes and muttering apologies. You followed suit, feeling a blush cross your cheeks as you struggled to slip back into your clothes from the night before. The talking died until the sound of zippers and shrugging fabric ceased and you both were fully clothed. Not knowing what to say, you followed Dean to the motel door, wondering what to say to him. 

“I take it that was Sam?” you finally asked Dean, giggling as his still embarrassed expression. 

“Yes,” Dean admitted, rubbing the back of his neck and reaching for the door handle with his free hand. “So, um, Y/N, I-”

“I had a great time,” you interrupted, shining a bright smile at him. 

“Same,” he said, obviously relieved to not have had to start the conversation. 

“Maybe again some time soon?” you supplied hopefully.

“Maybe,” he said, smiling back and opening the door into the brisk January morning.

“Maybe…”

* * *

That was the last you had seen or heard of Dean Winchester.

You’d held onto Sam’s number like you promised, not wanting to let go of your only remaining tie to Dean now that he had vanished from your life. Even as you grew older and eventually stayed in Lawrence, Dean’s story stayed in your mind. Maybe that was why you had taken the position as gardener of the Lawrence local cemetery after the previous gardener died. Maybe that was why you always made sure to keep Mary Winchester’s grave in peak condition, removing all the decaying flowers and cleaning bird poop from the granite. 

You collected all of your yard work utensils and slipped them into your toolbelt, pushing the wheelbarrow back 

“Hell-oh,” the man drawled out, stepping out from behind a tree.

You jumped out of your thoughts, spinning around and gaping in surprise at him.

He seemed unfamiliar at first, but when he grinned and his green eyes sparkled, you knew.

“Dean?” you asked in surprise. 

“Hello, Y/N,” he chuckled, staring you up and down. “It’s been too long.”

“What brings you back to Lawrence?” you asked, wiping some hair out of your face and smearing dirt across your cheek.

“You could say that I’m here to see a relative,” Dean said, shrugging amiably and, with a knowing smirk, looked you up and down. “Though I might have to make a quick stop.”

You cocked your head slightly, sensing that something was off about him. The Dean you knew from all those years ago would never be so forward or so quick to jump past pleasantries.

“Well, I should get going,” you said awkwardly, pointing back towards your office. “Have a bunch of paperwork to fill out.”

“What? No ‘thank you’ or grovelling for that night so long ago?” Dean asked arrogantly as you walked away. “I know you liked it, they all did.”

You froze, his words hitting you like a ton of bricks. He was right, but that wasn’t who Dean was. Dean would never say something like that. Whoever this Dean Winchester was, he wasn’t the man you knew from fifteen years ago.

“Oh come on, Y/N,” he said, smirking. “What do you say we go have a nice tumble for good old times sakes.”

“What is wrong with you?” you asked, snapping and turning around to face him. “Trying to relive your ‘greatest hits’?”

“Yeah, actually,” Dean said, squaring his shoulders. “Most girls are flattered that they made it.”

“When did you become like this?” you asked angrily, reaching for one of your yard tools. “Was nothing we talked about important? Did you finally become that rockstar and that’s why you’re such a dick now?”

“I’d be careful what you say to me, Y/N,” he said, his eyes hardening into menacing slits. “You don’t know what I’m capable of.”

“I don’t know who you are anymore,” you spat, grabbing the wheelbarrow and making your way back to the office and not looking back. 

As soon as you put the tools away, you’d be calling Sam. You’d never used that number, but it looked like you would tonight.

* * *

 

You quickly packed everything up and headed back out into the cemetery, looking for Dean as you worked your way back towards Mary’s plot. 

Dean was standing over the grave you had just finished clearing, staring at Mary Winchester’s tombstone and you crept over to a stand of oak trees that hid you from the older Winchester’s bright eyes.

“Well, Mom,” he said, not moving. “It’s good to be back here again.”

You nearly gasped, but her your tongue, not wanting to disturb Dean.

You stayed behind the tree, not sure what to do and just watching. Suddenly, an acorn dropped off the oak tree and hit you in the head, making a slightly hollow sound that made Dean turn around. 

His eyes were pitch black.

You held your breath, hoping he wouldn’t notice you.

He didn’t, turning back to the stone and not speaking anymore.

You turned your back to him, hoping to use his distraction to your advantage. Pulling out your phone with shaking hands, you skimmed through the numbers, going down to the S’s, where you’d kept Sam’s number for all these years.

You hoped and prayed with all your heart that the phone number still worked. 

Someone picked up on the first ring. “Hello?” an unfamiliar male voice asked. 

“Sam Winchester?” you asked shakily, looking around to see if Dean was still lingering around. 

There was no sign of him and you felt your blood run cold to see that he had vanished. You didn’t have much time to warn Sam.

“Yeah, how’d you get this number?” he asked, sounding a little bit surprised. 

“Your brother gave it to me fifteen years ago,” you explained quickly. “Look, I know you don’t know me and I know you shouldn’t care, but Dean is here, in Lawrence, and-”

Your phrase broke off with a strangled cry as a cold hot pain cracked on in your stomach and Dean’s large, strong hands pulled a bone blade, fresh with your blood, loose from your abdomen. 

“Sorry, sweetheart,” he said as the world and Sam’s yells faded into blackness.

The pain began to fade as he let go of your shoulder and let you slip to the ground. 

You were dead before you hit the grass.


	2. Chapter 2

“Hello, Dean,” Sam said, gazing at his brother as Dean watched a rather suspicious funeral pyre burn brightly through the night. 

“I see the whore managed to get the message to you,” Dean said, straightening up and stiffening. 

“She did,” Sam agreed, not reaching for the demon killing knife just yet. 

“And I suppose you’ve come to take me in,” Dean said, not turning to face his brother just yet. 

“As have I,” Castiel said, stepping out from behind another tree.

Dean chuckled. “It’s going to take more than a gutless brother and a broken-winged angel to bring me in.”

“Then I guess we’d better get on trying to take you in,” Sam said, pulling the demon knife out of it’s sheath. 

Dean chuckled again and vanished, leaving Sam and Cas in the darkness, watching a funeral pyre burn into the wee hours of the morning.

Two months later, they tracked him to a bar in and managed to get Dean back to the bunker.

Three days after that, they cured their first demon. 

* * *

Dean had never been more quiet, Sam noticed. 

Rock music no longer blared from the Impala’s speakers, just static. Dean went to bed in the early hours of the morning after hunts, often stinking of alcohol and blood and not cleaning himself up for the next few days. Dean was going stagnant and it made Sam’s heart ache to see his brother in such a state. The Mark of Cain only grew more stark against Dean’s skin and his persona had become much darker as he languished in his own disgust. 

Sam tried to intercede multiple times, only to be shot down with a glare or a snapped comment. Dean always retreated further into himself after each interaction and turned the pent up anger into violence on each hunt. 

Finally, Sam had had enough and confronted Dean as they both were practicing their sparring in the bunker’s gym. They were both fighting quietly, Dean actually starting to cheer up and a sparkle returning to his eyes as they gently dueled. It was the best Sam had seen Dean in weeks and he waited until there was a 

“So, Dean,” Sam began, dodging an easy kick from Dean and barely touching his brother with a faked right hook. “We need to talk.”

Dean kept his defensive position, looking to all the world like nothing had changed because of Sam’s words, but Sam could see that Dean had changed immediately. 

“Dean, you’ve been doing nothing but hunting and drinking yourself to death,” Sam said, dropping his offensive position and standing in a relaxed way. 

“What’s it any of your business,” Dean said, dropping his arms and heading for the door, grabbing his jacket.

“Is this whole thing about Y/N?” Sam asked, internally smiling to see Dean freeze in the door. 

“No,” Dean muttered. “Stop this bullshit, Sam.”

“But Dean, she said that you gave her my number-” Sam said, being cut off by Dean.

“I said, stop it, Sam,” Dean growled, turning on his brother. 

Sam didn’t back down. “She obviously meant something to you if you’d do that,” he said bravely, standing up and staring down his brother. 

Sam wasn’t expecting Dean to snap so quickly, not being able to duck out of the way of his brother’s punch towards his face,, getting hit directly in the jaw and stumbling back into the wall. 

“Never talk about her again,” Dean ordered, the Mark seeming to glow with his anger. 

There was then, a stand-off, Sam starring Dean down as a red bruise began to appear on the sharp corner of Sam’s jaw. Dean broke the stand-off by leaving the room, his jacket clenched tightly in his right hand and the door slamming behind him. 

“Fine,” Sam said, grumbling and rubbing his jaw as he watched his brother vanish. “But don’t go and do anything rash.”

* * *

Later that night, when Sam had passed out over a book about their most recent situation with the Mark, Dean finally stirred from his room. He grabbed a small box and a fake ID, practically running to the kitchen to grab the required herbs for the summoning ritual. 

Sam didn’t stir when the Impala roared out of the bunker and towards the nearest dirt road. 

* * *

Dean buried the box, using the First Blade as a shovel. The bone was surprisingly sturdy. 

“Come out here, you bitch,” Dean roared, spinning around and looking for the crossroads demon.

She was standing directly behind him, having taken the form of a young woman with dirty blonde hair and pale skin. Her eyes were the customary red, flipping back to their brown color when she blinked. 

“Dean Winchester,” she said, relishing the sound of his name on her tongue. “My, how long has it been since you made a deal with the devil? Two months?”

“My soul for her’s,” Dean ordered. “Let’s make this deal. Go up there, get her from Heaven and bring her back.”

“From Heaven?” the demon asked, confused. 

“Isn’t she there?” Dean asked, even more confused now. 

“No, don’t you know that anyone killed by a Knight of Hell goes straight to the pit?” the demon said with a smirk. “Comes with the Blade and I must say, your little friend has been holding up surprisingly well against our knives.”

“Let her go, now,” Dean thundered, holding the Blade even tighter. “Or I will use this.”

“So big and bad,” she mocked. “But you know that you can’t do that. Not without never getting Y/N back.”

Dean took a couple of deep breaths, pushing back the growing urge to kill the demon and cut his way through hell to Y/N. He opened his eyes. 

“Fine, let’s make this deal,” Dean agreed, tossing the First Blade onto the ground in front of her.

The demon stepped forward, not getting too close to the infamous blade as she 

“No, I need the payment now,” the demon said, eyeing the First Blade. “And I know that only you can do the deed.”

Dean looked down at the Blade, understanding what she meant. He felt his blood run cold, then warm again with certainty. 

“As soon as you ensure that Hell will get your soul, then I’ll get her from Crowley and back to the land of the living,” the demon promised, holding up a hand with crossed pointer and middle fingers. 

“As soon as I do this,” Dean said, holding the blade. “Then I want her back.”

The demon nodded, a smirk lingering on her lips as they finished kissing.

Dean looked between the demon and the Blade, steeling himself for what was to come. Taking a deep breath, Dean clenched the First Blade and plunged it into his own stomach. He gasped in surprise, feeling a burning sensation rush over himself and stumbling to his knees. 

After a few painful moments, the demon noticed with satisfaction that Dean Winchester was dead. Again. She pulled the First Blade loose, cleaning the bone on his shirt and tucking it into her waistband. Crowley would be very pleased. 

“And so it is done,” she breathed, vanishing. 

* * *

In a warehouse about a hundred miles away, the demon reappeared, walking briskly to where a human female was tied to a post, her face long and drawn from lack of food and water.

“A deal is a deal,” the demon muttered, removing the IV from the woman’s arm and cutting her loose. 

The djinn moved behind the demon, his eyes glowing blue. Yet he did not attack her, just watched.

“Hello, Lucy,” the djinn said, smiling. “I take it that the deal went as planned?”

“Yes,” the demon Lucy agreed, pulling Y/N to her feet. “Is the venom going to wear off soon?”

“Yes,” the djinn promised, making an ‘X’ over his heart. “And then you’ll make sure my payment goes through?”

Lucy nodded. “You have been of great use to us. I’m sure that Crowley will be glad to compensate for your help.”

“And of the Winchester?” the djinn asked. 

“Taken care of,” Lucy promised. “Permanently.”

She then vanished, leaving the rank smell of sulfur behind. 

* * *

Sam woke up in a hurry when he heard a knock on the bunker door. Yawning and trying to straighten his bed head, Sam opened the door, shocked to see a demon and an unfamiliar woman standing there. 

“A deal’s a deal,” the demon said, pushing the half-conscious woman onto Sam. “I’m sure that Y/N is going to be very grateful for Dean’s sacrifice when she wakes up.”

The demon vanished, leaving the smell of sulfur and Sam gaping into nothingness, trying not to scream.


End file.
